


Destriers' nest

by Deth



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alien Culture, Ancient alternia, Illustrated, Language barriers everywhere, Master/Servant, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slavery, Slow Burn, language barriers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2020-07-30 14:04:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20098402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deth/pseuds/Deth
Summary: You're a long long way from home and your stay is not welcome. Additionally, you're told you're a slave, criminal and a complete abomination, and yet, despite all odds, you seem to find the time to fall in love in the midst of your angst.





	1. Meet the Beast of Burden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's in an indefinite hiatus. I'm more likely to rewrite this then continue it.

You couldn't help but hate dreaming these days. Sometimes it was nice to feel the tranquility of Earth again. It was nice being back on the place where you knew for a fact that you were to be safe and well cared for. 

But it was all false. Even if you were back home where you belong. Back home with your friends and family, and all the rest of the people you feel you inevitably took for granted. This was nothing but false hope your mind strained for, in the hell of being so desperatly homesick.

In the dream, seemingly by chance, you saw a news rapport going on about those mass disappearances that had been happening worldwide in the recent few years. You'd even seen people online discuss the problem, some saying it to be fake or some even claiming it to be some sort of conspiracy. It hadn't been happening anywhere near where you were living, and you were so caught up in life that you hadn't really considered anything of the sort could possibly happen to you. You were not concerned in the least. You were just going about your life as usual. 

The dream was not as obtuse as typical dream logic would allow, but rather, it had an eery tinge of realism attached to it. It pours dread down your spine when you think about it, and it occurs to you, that it was possibly not a dream at all. It occurred to you in your sleep, but when you think about it, the images clear as day to you, you get the feeling that it was not a dream, but instead a memory. 

It's difficult trying to recall your earlier days here by now. Waking up here seems to have scrambled and rattled your mind a little too harshly, it's difficult to think sometimes without a headache, and with nobody else to rant about the many questions you have yet to find even any slightest clues to, it only seemed to make it more and more difficult to keep track of whatever went on in this place. You were alone. The creatures here are far too suspicious of yourself, and you of them. It's even more so after even more of this disaster seemed to pile up on you. You just can't seem to get a break out here.

There's lot's to blame the occurrence of these dreams, but you settle it on a shifty sleep pattern. You've just recently been assigned a new task area, and it makes you more nervous than ever working in a new area of your prison.

You decide to get a head start on the start of your night instead and focus on your work before you spiral back into the abyss of confusion and distraught daydreaming. 

It's easier to breathe up here, you think. It isn’t so musty; the air is lighter and hardly as humid as where you sleep, and for the most part, you’re just glad it’s quieter up here. Trolls don’t bother you when you work up here as much as they did when you worked way down below in the slaves quarters. 

You wonder how your life had come to this. Living on an alien planet, sweeping the floors of grand warriors stronghold like some expendable good-for-nothing.

You’d been ripped from your life so abruptly, you had yet to have the basics of your new life under the knee, but you understand that you should be grateful that you were not killed when they first saw you.  
You’d just woken up somewhere you'd know that you had for certain, not fallen asleep in before. The building seemed aged and old, ancient and yet unrecognizable in style, what with two moons in the sky, one pink and the other green, you were so certain that this had to be some sort of ridiculous fever dream you were having. But after getting caught, by what could only be compared looking akin to a demon with their grey skin and orange horns and hissy attitudes, you slowly began to realize that you’d somehow been taken away, and you were never going to see your old home ever again. 

To paraphrase, one day, you just woke up on an alien planet, with no warning or explanation. The aliens who work here, slaves, guards and servants alike, are not fond of you. As mentioned, they are not unlike demons. Besides their dark grey skin, messy black manes and fangs, these creatures have a terrible taste for culture too. Their entire society seems to dwell around death and rage, and personally, you've found it more than difficult to settle in. If it weren't for the branding mark which appeared with you when you woke up here, you think you'd likely be dead, either for being an alien or a blood color outcast. God. Their caste system. You don't want to get into it. Maybe another time. 

You’ve just finished sweeping a long empty hallway. They said it would be best if you tried staying out of sight after what had happened yesterday.

Well...It could hardly be called an arrest; you know they don’t have dungeons considering they’ll just slaughter any criminal on sight, especially so as the master of the hive is called “Executioner”, but they simply sent you back to the rest of the slaves quarters until they were apparently decided with your fate. 

<-+- = -+-> 

They’d accused you of thievery. You don’t know what of or when or how, but it happened all so suddenly that you wouldn’t be surprised if you missed any of the details between the fray. You’d been minding your business after clearing another hallway and going on simple errands. You were even cautious of the wider open public spaces, considering you’d heard that the master had returned to his hive just a few days prior, and you were not looking for any more trouble than you were worth. 

You were then grabbed by the arms of two teeth-barring blue blood soldiers and told of your apparent crimes. You were unsure if they were making a mistake or fabricating a cruel fantasy to mess with you, but in either case, you would not go down without trying to avoid whatever black rabbit hole they wanted to drag you into. Your arms still have bruises. You tried yelling and screaming at them, hoping they might get annoyed with you enough to try and drop you to kick you out of it, but it seems they were serious and rather adamant about bringing you to justice. You realised too late, when thrown to the feet of the master himself, that they truly _were_ accusing you of something this time.

Granted, the event was not as life-ending as you were expecting at that moment, but you remember the tremble of your body clearly. There, right before you, was the one you were so dead-set on avoiding, the master of the hive; your Executor, Darkleer. 

His face was younger than you thought it would be, but he was just as the grand paintings of war had depicted. His face was gaunt, angular, but twisted in anger and splattered in many alien colours that still don't manifest as blood to your mind. These aliens are indeed tall, but he was more so, built large and heavy, he was a natural war machine. Dressed head to toe in armour, only with his black visor with glowing white geometric patterns differing him from his many soldiers of this place. Like the paintings, he was he did not look pleased. He was hostile, teeth gleaming in the light as he seemed to twitch while looking yourself over.

The moment was tense, and he was far from welcoming in tone. You were a stranger, unrecognisable beyond, and unknown to him in your stay here in his own home. As he spoke, he spoke unbelieving almost, speaking as if it would make you vanish from sight, and he spoke with a hiss, not only accusing _you_ of your unsolicited appearance here but the rest of those who serve him as well. He asked you why and how you'd come to be here, something that has been a pending answer even to yourself. Regardless, even if you did have the answer, you were not anatomically fit to be able to answer in his own language. You remained quiet, and he continued to rant. At the end of it, the tone sounded, frustrated. exhausted. 

After that. Nothing happened. You were sent away by the guards again. They were confused, as were you, though thinking back to his posture... Pinching at his temples, washing his hand over his face before calling the guards to retrieve you, he did not look very excited to get alien blood over his fingers as you initially imagined he would be. Blue bloods all seem to act so alike, but him at that moment? He looked about as eager as you were to interrogate something that would/could not answer him either.

He ordered for your resting place to relocate, as for the guards to be extra alert around where you would be. Thus you left the lower quarters where slaves were kept, and you were brought to higher grander grounds, all just to keep strict watch over your person.

<-+- = -+-> 

Leaning on your broom for the support you let your body weigh on the wall. There are guards at the end of the hallway behind you, they only half alert to your movements, half slacking in their own posture. They looked just about ready to fall asleep. You don't blame them. You must be a very underwhelming criminal to keep watch over, especially considering the guard's fondness of torturing any available servant they see fit. Personally, they haven't done anything especially torturous to you yet, but you have a few bumps and bruises over your shoulders where they grabbed and moved you out of their way, they paid little attention to you, oddly enough. Like some servants, it could be that they're too tentative about hurting something they're unfamiliar with, or something they're unsure of that will get them in trouble, so they leave you alone. You think you'd be pretty easy to pick on, considering your size compared. Otherwise, they find much fondness in verbal abuse it seems, and for that little, you're grateful. Some servants get more painful games to play with them. 

You feel out of place up here actually. Most slaves work down in the basement areas, the ones that work up here are all servants. Workers by choice. 

Some of the servants upstairs even get to wear their symbols. You still struggle to figure out the colours and importance of the symbols they wear, but it certainly seems to give them more happiness, or pride, if anything else. Your clothes are just a plain black and rather dulled compared without any colour, but as long as you have something to cover yourself with you'll be more than grateful for anything given to you. You've learned to appreciate the simple, basic, absolute needs in life these days. 

Speaking of which, a servant does turn the corner and approaches you pointedly. No colours. Another slave, and thankfully, not the head maid. 

"The master had called for you. You'd better hurry."

You’re tailed by the two guards on your flank, now, who seem a lot more refreshed and giddy now that something is happening.  
Down the hall and walking with a swift pace powered by the chills in your spine, you can't help but think about yesterday. Hopefully, he's calm this evening, and whatever's in store, is not something that will end you permanently, as little as you're enjoying yourself. 

The night before was just as cold as it is today, and somehow it makes the place all the more quiet along the way, the footsteps echoes ring in your ears.

You’re not sure how big this place is but considering it’s meant to house soldiers for training and more servants than you’re able to keep track of you take it that this place is fairly spacious. Sometimes you even get lost looking for the servants quarters sometimes. Some servants even still flinch at the sight of you, even now as one passes by, and it occurs to you that some of the trolls in here haven’t even seen you before. You've spent too long down there...

The further you walk into the hive the more you find adrenaline readying under your skin. You’re shivering too, though that could just be from the cold. You’re not exactly equipped with a warm coat or shoes, and what you are wearing is dirty and itches your skin. Your shoulders are exposed too, and you hold yourself, briefly feeling your fingers graze over the texture of your raw branding scar. You trace the lines of the diagonal arrow and the cross at its tail. 

You approach broad, intricately detailed doors. Uncertainties boil and bubble in the bile of your guts, and you wonder if there was possibly another route you could've taken. Another way to avoid whatever is about to happen. Without time to pause and panic before the doors, you're swept inside, wondering if you're going to walk out again this time. 

Gladly, when you make it inside the dark study again, you make sure to stand on the carpet, to take a break from the freeze of the polished stone floors. This time the lights are somehow darker than they were that night. In fact, there's hardly any candles lit in the room, say for the fading glow of the firepit and the open windows, tinting the black room with red and green light.

He sits on a lavish seat with a wall of books behind him. He’s without his visor this time you see, but oddly enough, without the black sheen over his eyes, now his expression seems almost impossible to tell. It's unrecognizable; a lax closed mouth and with eyes having no immediate reaction to your entrance, he seems almost tranquil while he sits, leaned back in his chair. 

It's quiet. 

“I’ve been told you’ve been here for at least a perigee working in my hive. Is this true?” He asks. 

His voice is very much distant from your first meeting. It is stiff, quiet, lingering in stale air. The tone is clear and calm but spoken with the least amount of volume you need to hear him properly. It’s yet still as thick and gravely as it first was, but now all the more liquid and smooth without the irritate clicks of his throat to obscure it. 

If a perigee is as long as you think it is, you think so. You keep it simple and nod. You’re not playing charades with someone who likely wants you dead. 

His is tied neatly and pulled from his eyes, but he faces away from you, staring intently at the glass, seemingly deep in thought. Again, a striking match of his portrait, his hair is long and silky, draped like long strands of blank silk over the armrests. It's difficult to tell with the lighting still too dim despite the efforts to lighten the place, in fact, it may even be darker in here than last time. You can't tell what he's wearing, but you can see that the glint of his shoulder guard is not there and that whatever deep blue sleeves there are rolled up to his elbow. 

He looks back from his distant gaze from the window and fixes it to you again. 

“And you mean to say that an alien-being can live in my hive for that long and I have simply not noticed or been given word?” His tone is accusatory. 

He says nothing to your silence and you simply keep your head down. Granted, he was not here for the majority of the time, but you can understand his frustration. You wouldn’t take an alien living in your house without your knowledge very easy either.

“They say you cannot speak but you do understand us?”

You nod. 

He huffs. “I was planning on culling you when I caught word of you… Yet, admittedly, this is not why I've kept you.” He shifts in his posture, leaning forwards towards you. 

"We have more important things to discuss. I had something important delivered to me the night I returned to my hive. It was accompanied by a letter, but I’ve only received the letter. The box was missing. Were you involved in its disappearance?"

So that’s what this was about? A box with the letter? You don’t know what motive he thinks you’d have to steal his box, let alone whatever was in it, but you’re pretty sure there is little to none. 

Naturally, you shake your head. 

He’s quiet before he replies: “I don’t believe you.”

What are you to reply with? He’s going to paint the carpet red, isn’t he?

“I’ve decided, however. Things have not been right in my hive as of late. Things disappear and even stranger things appear here." He speaks patiently, making time to glare at you. "There is a plot happening that I apparently have no control over. I will not stand for this," 

He rises and goes to collect an arrow. It's black and sleek; when the light hits it just right it sheens with a blue iridescence. The arrowhead has four long spiked hooks, each one as long as your whole hand. 

"You will serve me in this endeavor as I command. You will find what I seek, what I have lost, and return it to me. If you do not do so within nine days... You will then serve me as target practice. Until then, you will remain alive and well unless I suspect betrayal. This is not mercy; you are an enemy until proven otherwise. The only reason you live is because of my explicit orders given. Am I understood?" 

You’re going to live then. By the skin of your teeth, but it's more than you could ask for. You nod again. 

“Then you are dismissed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so after a million edits i hope it's still at least vaguely clear that protagonist-san is unable to speak alternian but is still able to understand it for reasons not yet brought up)) besides that, i hope you guys enjoy this. ive been trying to write this thing since last year, but hopefully now my millionth draft is clear enough to be understood >>
> 
> theres not enough fanfics about Darkleer and even less in the x reader isle, so, you know. i decided to write this. 
> 
> if theres any inconsistencies or just general critique you'd like to give im all ears. i have a tendency to over-edit, but some things give me the slip sometimes, but again, i do hope you enjoy ^^;


	2. Rein in

The great grandfather clock seems to chime with a heavy finality about it. The sound rings and echoes in your ears throughout the entire night as you scurry about. 

The very next day you found yourself left alone, and you could not be any more grateful for it. At the same time, your heart pumps anxiously at the thoughts he'd left you with. 

They did not bother keeping you close or keeping track of your whereabouts like they did the day before, and you were left to your own devices. In the kitchen, where the head maid often does love to catch her charge of gossiping servants and slaves, she gives you the eye. The one where she likes to express her utter discontent at your disposal but also her ire for you still being in her general presence. 

It's official. You're living hours are numbered at nine days, and you have yet to decide properly what you want to do about it. There's a terrible stressing thumping ache in your head that does not leave either, and the head maid is not helping one bit.

You should not have expected any mercy from Pythia's part, and you know this well. As you just woke from a terrible day of sleep (turning nocturnal has it's downsides, especially when just a few hours earlier you were let known that your life had been set on a time limit), you'd all but forgotten that you were a responsible slave in the hive as any other here, and you had work to do, lest Pythia twists your neck. 

She truly does seem to have it out for you now that you're viable for death, and this moonrise had given you an endless tower of tasks to complete for the day. You decided you would only pretend to do them, while you panic on your more pressing problems.

You're sent to work with the small group of misfit servants again, which sits completely fine with you. 

They're all a bunch of gossiping geese anyways, so you have no doubt they'll be too caught up in their tall tales than to keep a stern eye on you. The only troll you worry about is Embden, but you're sure there should be some workaround that tattletale. 

You collect your cleaning equipment and are all sent to go clean one of many libraries of the hive. You've actually never been to any of the libraries, but you find yourself excited to see it. You always did love reading. 

It’s not long before the others start to whisper about how the guards are at it again, chasing the ghost, demon, invisible thing, or whatever other scandals they have in mind. And now with the additional trouble of having to prepare the hive for an apparent sudden guest, they come up with various schemes of “what if they’re working with the thief!”. They look at you from the corners of their eyes.

You stick close to their heels regardless, hoping not to lose yourself again. This hive is more akin to a maze than a place of residence. Indeed it’s built and decorated with marble floors and fine patterned walls and furniture, but many of the rooms run into each other, some have more doors than they need, and others are awkwardly shaped and crooked. Many are too small, and even more, are larger than needed. You wonder what it looks like from outside.

When you all arrive to the library, it's hardly the size you were imagining, instead, it being one of the smaller rooms, only not lacking in any vertical space. Bookcases are built to reach and touch the ceiling, and there are ladders and small balconies, making use of every inch of the room. There are books littered about next to chairs and on tables, and there's a desk settled one side of the room with a stack of papers and a fresh pot of ink settled atop; but the most iconic giveaway to you is that the lights are set especially dim in this room, and the curtains are drawn, making the entire room as dark as it can be without extinguishing the lights themselves.

This is a room Darkleer frequents. The master always works in the dark it seems, and it was indeed not some horrific afterthought of the atmosphere is seems when you'd met him last. Seeing as most rooms you know him to frequent are often kept in the dark, you wonder if it has something to do with his optical health (it could also correlate to the dark-tinted visor he wears with his armour) or perhaps it's simply a personal preference to create a sinister aura about him. In any case, the first thing you and the servants do is to draw the curtains open.

It hardly manages to light up the room this night. Outside in the sky is dark and grey, and with what little you're able to see is a vast carpet of heavy clouds in the sky. No stars or dual neon moons are to be found, only hints of green and pink tint the clouds ever so slightly. Just as you go to light a few candles, the clouds seem to rumble with gentle rolls of thunderous omens. 

This one certainly did not lack in the vertical space, however. It was towering and stretched at least three stories high, with bookcases built into the wall with dark blue wood. Per standard, when the candles are lit, you see many a grand painting of white stallions and vast landscapes lined up on the walls. 

You decide to stick to the furthest side of the library where there are more candles and do your chores with Twente, the runt of the lot. They're more often than not more likely to let you know if you've done something wrong in a reasonable manner instead of hissing at you.

The other servants opt no complaints and instead go on with their festering whispers. You decide perhaps it might be worth-while to tune into their gossiping, besides, they might say something worth your while. They're terrible at keeping their voices down, and if anything else, they make for great idle entertainment.

"There's no way it's capable of it. Look at it. It's hardly the size of Twente, what reason would they have to pester the Master? There must be some sort of mistake." One said, Faroes you think. 

"Right, but even if it is true, I would've thought it'd be killed on account of it's... red blood." Another agreed.

"Then why are the guards setting up traps outside the hive? And fixing up the defences? It's clear to keep them in!" Scania at least has the decency to refer to you as a person instead of an 'it'.

"Well I think this whole alien thing is a hoax to distract us. Clearly Darkleer has something planned, why else would he be having a guest over? There must be something he does not want us gossiping about. The guards have been very busy as of late."

Twente makes a brief comment themselves, chirping over some guardswoman they'd apparently struck a deal with. 

They gossip about that as well. "They have been acting out of sorts..." Again, they hardly try to be subtle in their suspecting attitudes. Shifting eyes and whispering to each other in tones not so lowly, say for when a guard passes by the doors. 

You leer up at the long stretch of ladder leaning up the towering bookcases. You mean to ask Twente for help but find her totally enraptured, or possibly possessed, by a book so big it could kill a cat. She's holding it easily despite her size and is staring very intently at it with a focused strain in her eyes. You decide to tap her on the shoulder before she breaks herself. She jumps in her skin and backwards into Embden, who does not look pleased with her at all. The book is ripped from her grasp and then shoved into your hands, likely for you to re-shelve it. 

"Twente, don't start your shit today. Lowbloods do not read." Embden snaps at her.

Twente snaps back at her with nonchalance. She's always been the odd one out in this group, less a gossiper, and more a rebellious teenager. 

While they argue, you take your own turn to look at the covers. Your heart pangs a bit. You enjoyed reading back home. It makes you think that you possibly might never read any new stories ever again, but that is, when you look to the cover instead of being met with the expected unidentifiable scribbles of nonsense, you find the spiked and angled letters look almost as familiar to you as English does. You read "Mechanical Engineering for absolute morons" just fine. You flip through some of the pages, reading every sentence with ease. So your miraculous alien translation powers have affected not only speech but written text as well. This could be useful. 

"See? They want to read too!" You catch Twente say. 

You have to guess that it was meant to sound humorous, but Embden meets your gaze and it ruffles her feathers even more.

"No! Absolutely not-- it is a distraction-- we have work, " Embden sputters and kidnaps the book again. "We'll have no reading amongst ourselves, we're already slaves, there's no need to make it worse!" 

Twente gets moved away and back to another shelf to start dusting, and as Embden turns back to you, she has an especially disturbed look in her eye.  
You've herded away on over to your own separate corner of the room, where you can't disturb Twente's "delicate mindset" with your radical implications and displays of "rebellion" and general alien demeanour. 

When the room seems to quiet again, and as it settles and the whispers of servants ebb, outside, just gently, you hear the rain pour down.

You lose time to the sounds of the trickle of water and the rolling thunder outside. 

It would seem there is no room for self-servings of minor luxuries among slaves here, even if they are something that would not be missed. You wonder why they're so threatened into obedience. You do understand it to some extent, but the fact that they've cut themselves off from no action to their desires is almost eerie to you. You wonder if it might be a good idea to escape, but their apprehension of even the thought of you makes you think again. What reason do they have for not even wanting their own freedom?  
It took a bit after the registering of your presence on an alien planet, and the readjusting to daily life to get used to the fact that here, with a brand on your arm, options are limited, and the bare minimum you're allowed to have to survive is a great amount of generosity. But yet... there must be more than they can have than simply accepting that as slaves they'll simply melt into obscurity. 

You decide to ignore this. You've learned to be careful in this place, and to take in mind that you should be wary of what trolls are wary of especially, but right now it's do or die, so whatever you decide to do, it will be worth the risk, if anything. 

You then decide if you can read, surely this means you can write too. As you take your time sweeping, you make sure nobody sees you when you snatch a pen and paper from the desk. When you write in Alternian, you find that you write it just as well as you do English. You swipe a book while you're at it. If anything, it will keep you good company for when you have another sleepless day. 

Before you know it, almost half the work is done and over with. You wonder about what Twente said about that guardswoman. If you can just ask her a few questions, you have no doubt she would be more than willing to answer. They keep mentioning the rumours of a witness that "saw the shadow of the thief", describing the criminal without horns, and therefore, yourself, but you have reason to believe they were simply looking for a reason for you to be killed or maybe to distract from the real culprit. You wonder if this guard is as rebellious as they say. Embden certainly thinks so, even if the guard is apparently the one who initially reported seeing the thief themselves. She might be the actual thief herself. This is a good enough prompt for an investigation you think. 

When Embden is turned away and shrieking profanities and keeping herself well distracted with the trolls who'd been toppled over a smaller bookcase, you take the chance to make a move. You hope Twente did not overdraw their reading abilities. Your handwriting is a bit lopsided, either from it being a completely alien language, or from loss of practice with pen, but you're satisfied and keep your faith that it's at the very least legible. 

You tiptoe over to the other side of one tall bookcase. Through the gaps of the books where she dusts, you hand over the crumpled paper. 

"What's this?" She asks. 

You emphasize your finger over your mouth and look over to where Embden still argues. 

She's wide-eyed but unfolds the paper and seems to study it with the same intensity she did the previous book. Her ears perk when she flips her head back to you. 

"You can write? That's amazing!" She does keep her voice down, but you try tapping on the paper to emphasize the urgency of your situation. If there's a lead, you need it now. You don't know if Pythia is going to isolate you again after this, Embden does tattle on you with every chance she gets. 

"Right, right, you want to know who Falada is?" She asks.

You nod. You grab the paper again and write a bit more, and she reads as you write and gasps. 

"She might be the real thief." You write. 

"That-- that's not right, Falada's kind of cool. Besides, she's a blueblood. Even if you do get her, nobody's gonna believe you." She says. 

"Let me worry about that. Where can I find her?"

Twente seems to think about what you wrote for a bit. Eventually, she seems to give in. 

"Well, she's usually in the training yard, but she's also a real slacker, so sometimes you can find her in the abandoned armoury rooms. If she is hiding something… I bet they’d be there. You’d have to get the key from the key master first though, Falada has her own key." 

The key master… Your blood chills with apprehension. That centaur has all the keys. This is a disaster.

Just then your blood rushes under your skin and you try to look busy on your own accord. Embden comes looking for Twente and whisks her away from where you are. Embden thankfully does not do much besides give you a sharp look from the corner of her eye. She does not seem to have noticed the scrunched up paper or pen stuffed into your apron. 

Twente mouths the words "Good luck" your way when nobody’s looking. 

In the meanwhile…

* * *

<==<<< <==<<< <==<<< X >>>==> >>>==> >>>==> 

After another uneventful evening, you're off to find your ward. For a grub that grew so quickly, he tends to stick to his old habits, and rooms that he rarely lets strangers or servants into, and it's not so difficult to narrow down his whereabouts. Only you are permitted to clean these rooms. You, after all, keep all the keys of the hive. 

You manage to find Darkleer in his old workroom. The whole room is pitch black and his visor is on the table. The lights must be giving him headaches again. 

His machines are all deactivated, say for his latest addition. Tonight at least, he does not seem to be stressing over it right now, which you personally consider a great feat for him. You're so proud of him. 

Instead, he's fixated on a letter. Looking over his shoulder and giving him a gentle tap, you see that he holds one of Mindfangs letters in hand. He gives you a wordless greeting by glace, then returning to his pondering over the letter. 

"Did you make sure the servant's know of her arrival? They have a tendency to panic over it beforehand, I'd rather they start preparations immediately after initial disquiet." He asks. 

You did. The head maid Pythia threw an especially hissy fit over the news, but you made well and sure that preparations for her arrival have begun. You wonder if Darkleer had made sure that he'd postponed his other engagements beforehand; he's a very busy man, but he can't afford to have suspicious of his relations to get out of hand. 

"I did. Thank you, Aurthour."

Is something the matter?

"The orb. Oracle. Whatever she called it. She will be looking for it. I'm sure that's why she's visiting in the first place." He says. 

His hands tremble slightly. His brows are tensely furrowed and sweat starts to bead on his forehead. 

There's no need to cry over spilt milk now. In any case, he's made a move to prevent the suspected thief from leaving his hive, they'd have to come clean at some point, no? 

"Then why do I get the feeling I've picked the wrong thief?"

You don't know. Darkleer has always had an intense imagination, a vibrant intuition that has yet to fail him, yet at the same time, it does tend to agonize him all the while more. 

He asks that you keep a close eye on them. He wants to be sure they’re making progress, of any kind. 

At that, you leave him to his devices to let him brood some more. Perhaps, by any chance, he would notice the machines around him, it will motivate him to distract himself. Mindfang has never truly gotten furious with him, you have little doubt that he's simply overthinking himself again. 

Just as you take the first exit, you walk into someone carelessly.

* * *

<==<<< <==<<< <==<<< X >>>==> >>>==> >>>==> 


	3. Unstable encounter

The third night of your investigation flows by like a breeze, and the fourth steps on your toes immediately after. 

You have six days left to live.  
Yesterday you'd decided to investigate the door Twente'd spoken about, and now you're confident to say that you are thoroughly familiar with it... It's exterior in any case. As you'd suspected, it was locked, and it remained that way for the rest of the night. It was at least not far out of your way as it was a room many servants passed by when going to fetch or put away cleaning equipment, though through the whole night you'd waited and hoped maybe this Falada character might show up, you've had no such luck. 

Keeping in mind your limited time, you'd decided that you should rather not wait for luck and instead take the situation by the reigns first and hopefully collect the keys yourself. You hope it was worth it to skip out on the long lists of tasks Pythia had forced upon you. She's not going to be happy when you get back. 

And so, you were found where slaves and servants are typically forbidden to attend. Slinking about the shadows of the ninth (and a half? The convoluted design has not ceased its fluctuation) floor, trying not to linger in the sights of the guardsmen for too long. For something with the body of a horse, this centaur butler... is not an easy find. You thought you might find him if you started your search early in the night when business was only freshly underway, but as it turns out you were perhaps wrong in your reasoning. And now you feel more in trouble than you were opting to be aswell. 

The centaur creature, a butler you assumed by his dress code, naturally, is not a troll. And it's human half, from what little of him you've seen, hardly looks human at all. You're unsure of why this is. It could be it's pure white skin all over. It could be because you've never heard it speak even once. Perhaps his pitch-black eyes? But there's just something digging the uncanny valley. You're... apprehensive to say the least. You've never interacted with them before, thanks to you're the first introduction to an alien species going as well as it did. You just hope that they might be willing to part with the key, you did not steal this notebook for no reason after all. 

Today you were only hoping that your discomfort may only be linked to your apprehension of meeting the butler in person for the first time, but now all kinds of stresses and worries began to riddle you. You get the feeling you may have walked up perhaps one flight too many stairs for your investigation. The guards seem fixated on your presence with every turn you make. Their faces are hidden by shadow and visor, but you can tell, their mouths twitch downwards, and you are not welcome up here. 

YOu want to turn back, find your way down back to the rest of the servants, but... you're a bit too far gone now. You'd slipped from the claws of Pythia's impossibly long list of chores she handed out to you, and if you get back down there now, you'll have hell to pay for not being where you were meant to be. 

The marble floors may be freezing to the soles of your feet, but by now your pace makes you feel like you're treadin on coles. 

So distracted, and anxious of being caught, you leapt out of the danger and slipped into a room you thought to be unoccupied.

As they say, out of the frying pan, into the fire, you walked straight into your trap. 

"And what the fuck do you think you're doing in here? You're not supposed to be up here." Someone says. Naturally, you fail and nearly fall over in fright. Behind you, in this very dusty rustic looking room, is a blue-blood. Just your luck. 

They're not fully dressed in their armour as they should be, but from the simplistic patterns and design of what armour pieces are worn, you can tell this is one of the fresh recruits. One of the worse types. Their humour can be compared with that of a thirteen-year-old, perhaps a sociopathic version of one. 

Twente had scribbled Falada's symbol in your (stolen) notebook. You recognise the lines vaguely crisscrossing on her leather breastplate. So. This is said potential thief. You were not planning on such an early introduction. 

Granted, perhaps this Falada _was_ as cool as Twente had described. You could give her a chance. You could see why she might admire this blue blood. But as it were, you don't feel like making friends with her very soon.  
Thinking on her comment, you could very much say the same about her. You don't know much about the blue bloods routines and practices, but you know for a fact that even the newest recruits are required to be in the centre training block practising their aim if they're not already assigned a to a duty. They're not permitted to slacking off, especially not so early in the night. 

"Neither are you." You write. If you're going to dare speak up to her, you might as well dare to write at all. Embden implied slaves were not to write at all, you don't think blue bloods would take kindly to this in the first place. As you were hoping, or even better than you were hoping, She does not respond with as much authority or as much scolding as you were anticipating. 

"You can write? Is this allowed?" She says and snorts. The tone of her voice is lacklustre. Reading that you can write, and simply opting not to reply directly, gives you the idea that she's more a rebellious teen than a soldier in training. She does not care that you're breaking the rules.  
Not that you can tell the aliens age that well. Twente is about thirteen years old and even they act like an adult to some extent. In either case, Falada might even be ideal for you to interview. 

You decide to continue since there's no immediate danger as far as you can tell. By the way, her ears twitch when you hear a passing person shuffle outside the door, you understand full and well she's hiding too, to some extent.  
You write: "Can I ask you a few questions?" You feel every bit more like a detective the more you go on. 

Her posture is, awfully casual and slouching. When there's a beat of silence, she doesn't seem to attend to your presence with as much alert (as little as it was) as she did when you simply barged in here, and falls backwards and onto a large sack that puffs with dust when she sinks into its recline. Dust tickles your nose, and you smell a bitter scent in the air. Whatever was burned in here does not smell like it was healthy for the lungs. 

"Depends on the questions I guess," She shrugs. "But if this has anything to do with what _you_ stole, I got nothing. That was your doing, not mine." Her posture looks just mildly tenser when she mentions stealing. 

"So you insist I'm the thief?" You write. Her eyes narrow, and though her sneer is tense, her mouth twitches to a smile, forced, perhaps.

"'Course I do. I'd do me no good if I told 'em I'm the thief." A beat. "Which I'm not."

You take a pause at this. You take a moment before deciding what to write next. 

"So, you ARE the thief?" You write.

"Not really, no."

That. This is confusing. You really don't want to assume anything as they did you, but she's looking at you as if you're missing something. She sounded like she was admitting to being the thief. 

"Then why is the box in the abandoned armoury? The one you frequent?"

Her head tilts that there a dark shade falling over her eyes. The yellow of her eyes become a light orange. 

"It's mine." You don't like that heavy click she accents her words with. There's a dark underlying thrum from her throat you can just barely hear, and feel crawling under your skin.

"Then, why haven't you returned it to Darkleer? Do you know who stole it?" You're hesitant to write further, but what else are you going to do. This is a strong lead if anything. If she's innocent, but she has what you need, surely there's something you can work out. Though her tone did turn defensive very quickly, you like to reckon she might be reasonable. 

"I need it. And no, even if I knew 'em, I don't give a fuck. You're not taking it either."  
Her tone turns gravelly, there's an underlying thrumming from her throat, creaking with her vowels and heavy growls as she spits profanities with an especially threatening look in her eye. 

Right. Nevermind. Trolls aren't very reasonable. Why did you try and think that?

Eventually, she rises from her seat. 

"Or actually, you know what, you wanna see where I keep it?" She says. Wow. You don't like that sentence. 

You pick yourself up and back up slowly as she approaches with heavy clops of her boots. Her body sways with laze, but the click in her throat sounds just like before a predator about to pounce. Not before long you're nearly cornered, but you make sure to lean close enough to the door you came from. At least, you're sure this is the door you came from?

Your muscles are strung tight and it's far beyond you on how to remedy this. She's clearly taken the offence on you, and it's still not clear to you on who's the real culprit. You decide, finding out from her herself, is not the ideal choice. Not in your current position anyways. 

She steers you through the room, muttering to herself with dark profanities you can't quite make out and you stumble backwards, not once drawing your eyes from hers. Your hands are moist, and hold the small notebook with a painful grip. 

"I bet you would. I bet the real thief would love to be in your shoes." You catch that just barely when the noise of a sword drawn from it's sheath rings in the air, and she holds a sword bigger than your torso. 

She lunges at you, and adrenaline spikes in your body when you dart out the door. The sword cuts through it and burst with splinters, it sticks in the wall and you bolt back to where you came from, and she's quick to follow.  
You bump against the walls and skid around every corner, but Falada keeps a good pace for someone who skips practice. You hear the beating of her boots on tile and you swear she's leaving cracked footprints as she hunts you down. 

You realise too late to care that you've indeed taken the wrong turn at some point, and the rush of horror pumps your lungs with enough energy to do your best to stay ahead. You have not a clue what she wants to do with you, but you're less than eager to find out. 

Ahead, at the end of another twisting hallway, there are other guards firmly placed at their posts, cheering and jeering as they see what's happening. 

You don't catch any of the startled shouts they make at you, but when they see who's charging after you, you hear them cheering. Or jeering. You can't tell. 

You're surprised your reflexes have you able to skip and hop as you run when they stick their boots forward to trip you. Your feet ache with how hard your feet beat on the floor, and every obstacle seems to just jump in front of you as you try to make your way. You try your best to duck and twist past some of the unfortunate shrieking servants you do encounter if not a guard. Falada seems more than happy to simply charge through them, all of them shriek and yell profanities as they topple like bowling pins. Your heart wants to leap from your throat, your whole body is trembling, this was not a good idea. 

Ahead, you skid to turn a corner you think you recognise. A brief flight of steps wait patiently just up ahead, and hope is just beyond your fingertips, and the doorway you know that leads to where you belong; the slave quarters below. There at least, you know there to be hiding places servant are fond to use when in perils not unlike yourself. 

You swear you feel the heaving chilled puffs of air on your neck, and before you know it, the shock of distress has your legs on auto-pilot and you're leaping across the stairs.

This did not prompt for a graceful flight, and even less a landing. You fold over and slam on the floor. When you scramble to pick yourself up, you hear a distinct and clear 'pop' sound and pain bursts in your lower leg. 

You gasp with a shrill scream, and collapse, keeping a tight grip on your leg. 

The few servants in the area scatter away like ants, and Falada's shadow hovers big and dark over yourself, nostrils flaring. There's an ugly smile on her face, gritting crooked orc's teeth and sclerae red, you're in for it now. You're grabbed by the frail thread of your collar and slammed against the walls. Her breath stinks of raw meat and smoke. 

She wrenches your one hand at her wrist and pries out the small notebook and pen.  
"You're not getting away that easy. I'll fucking--" She stops midsentence, and you hear the vague chitters of guards. You've never heard such a tone from them, but you can't help but compare it to the nervous noises the servants make. Her head snaps to the attention of another guard who's urgently waving his arms at her possibly meant to look discreet and distracting at the same time. Her head swings around so quickly her dreadlocks smack your face.  
Then you both hear it. 

A deep and hollow voice tolls from around the corner. 

The stationed guards lurch back to their intended stiff and proper posture, and your assailant gasps. Falada drops you like she was burned, and with no fanfare besides a gesture that you don't quite catch, she makes herself scarce. You make a chocked noise and wince when the pain of your legs throb again.

You then understand her haste. Her shadow cannot even hope to compare to how dark the masters' shadow is.  
The background noise left no trace, and your panic gasps are the only thing you can hear. You feel the faint of trickles of tears in the corners of your eyes. You swear the light of the nearly vacant room fades with his presence. 

He's with the one person(?) you were hoping to find in the first place. The servants, from the corner of your eye, cower and slink away in the hallways, and the guards tense. Something must have happened that they're acting this way. 

Your leg pulses with pain and you sit helplessly, awkwardly, in front of him. His gaze is intense, and these were the longest few seconds of your entire time here on this planet. 

"Hm. Then it was not them." You hear him mutter, either to himself, or the butler. "Unless you're hiding something?"

You understand why your notebook was taken now. You can't testify against Falada. Not immediately in any case.  
And he thinks you're hiding something? Again? What happened? 

You assume the same song and dance and shake your head 'no'.

Darkleer stops at the bottom of the stairs, watching you intently. With him, is the centaur, the one person you were actually looking for this whole time. He/it/they have no expression right now, but you get the feeling he's also surprised at the scene. Darkleer has his mask on. 

There's a short longer silence before he sighs. 

"Auctor. Perhaps it is better you take the reigns on the situation for the time being. I have something preoccupying myself."

Without a word, "Auctor" goes on his way to presumably wherever Darkleer had meant to go to. 

"This premises is off-limits to yourself. Do you have a death wish, or are you simply testing my limits?"

Again you say no. He heaves a sigh. It's nice to know you're not the only one exasperated by what's going on. 

"You," Darkleer speaks to one of the guards at the door. "What happened here?"

"We cannot say for certain, but fellow blue blood has had them under pursuit. We did not catch their sign, as they were not properly dressed in uniform, sir." They say. You know they're lying. Falada's symbol was plain and clear, quick to catch on her shirt. 

Darkleer, from what you're able to tell from under his mask, curls his mouth to a sneer, muttering something under his breath. Perhaps he's got an idea on who it is. This is terribly ridiculous. You could just tell him. And yet everything seems stacked against you.

"I gave no such order to harm the accused. Did they give a clear reason for pursuit?"

"Not yet determined, sir." The guard salutes with as much composure as they can, and Darkleer dismisses them. 

"I take it you cannot walk." He gestures to your calf, where you now see is a very ugly bruise staining the skin. You shake your head, feeling dumb. 

"Fine. I'll take you there myself." He says, and your head spins. Wait, what?

He goes down on one knee and puts his arms under your knees and back respectively. You try not to shudder from the chill you feel of him, even thru the cloth of his gloves, his skin is freezing. His grip is stiff but gentle, and you're almost embarrassed from how you flinch from him. 

He promptly walks off with the pace of a busy businessman, and you feeling like you weigh less than a feather to him. You shrink into the crook of his arm, trying to figure out what to do with your hands. You eventually decide to keep them to yourself, and not to squirm against the hard metal of his chest plate. You do your best not to move your hurt ankle, and simply let it sway gently as he carries you. 

You wish you had your notebook. Despite it all, you hear yourself helplessly asking him:

"Where are you taking me?"

Naturally, he does not answer. He does hear you, his ears perked, and if you're reading him well enough, you think that he might be curious?  
He adjusts himself as he walks, seemingly to have you more comfortable in his arms. His demeanour seems more attentive, like somethings on his mind. Something must have changed his thoughts on you, because he's not so crass towards yourself, not in action in any case. 

He stops in front of a Jade green door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pacing-- sucks ..,.... .. ,,,, ,
> 
> , . .update,, late,-
> 
> i'll edit later. on another note. hopefully in the next chapter there will be an "illustrated" tag added. we'll have to wait and see.


	4. Remount

You wake up having slept surprisingly well. 

For starters, you're far more comfortable than where you've been sleeping the past few weeks, and the unfamiliar but welcome herbal aromas certainly helped you doze off it seems. You're also acutely aware, that this is not where you remember falling asleep. 

Your eyes flicker open, and as expected, nothing around you is recognizable. Well. That's a lie, you caught a few glimpses of the room before...

Your heart goes through a brief shrill drop. You can't believe you fainted in his arms. 

That's right then...

So the last minutes you remember being awake, you were brought here by the master, who seemed preoccupied, but insistent to his Jade servants that you be healed to full health as quickly as possible.  
You still don't understand his urgency at that moment, and neither did they, but who are you to complain if he suddenly wants you in good health?

You check out your area. The place is a mess honestly, and, despite this being the quote: "healers block". For all it's health-related clutter items; medical papers, books, vials upon vials of colorful elixirs stacked onto shelves and drying herbs strung up from the ceiling; this seems to be a hazardous place to walk around in for everything that's kept in this small space you occupy. There's a curtain drawn up, and you're alone in this small corner as far as you can tell. 

Outside the curtain, you do hear the shuffle of many shoes and more voices, but you're not quite in tuned to bother listening to what they say. It's more white noise chatter about things irrelevant to yourself and more about things you don't understand without context. Alien medicinal chatter. 

Besides you and the bed against the wall, there is a window, and peeking from its curtain to the world outside, you see a green and pink moon, hovering in the sky. So either you'd waisted an entire whole night of investigating in a sick room, or, only a few hours have passed. You honestly cannot tell. You feel like time had warped and is now swimming in your liquified brain. 

Whatever the case, there's still an investigation ongoing, and a Master of the hive you're for once actually curious to see. After your delightful interview with the said potential thief, you feel more than eager to blame Falada for the bullshit she's put you through. Your ankle--  
...  
Right. Your ankle. 

You actually feel very much tranquil at the moment. Calm. Relaxed. You hadn't even felt a flinch of pain in your foot since waking up. Or was it your leg? 

You'd fallen asleep before diagnoses. You still don't know what went wrong with your foot. Leg. Ankle. The whole thing hurt. Whatever.

Well then. 

You decide to swing both legs over the bedside slowly and carefully to asses the damage. Or repair.  
You find that you feel nothing but the distant tingling in your leg when you move it from the bedsheets. It's completely numb. 

It's been carefully wrapped up in... well. It does not look like cloth. Brushing your hand on the material, you want to say it's raw wool by the looks of it, but the texture at your fingertips says that it's more silky, soft... but clingy and almost sticky material. Like ghostly sheets of a spiderweb. You bristle in discomfort. 

You try moving your leg. It does everything you want it to, as long as it regards anything above the knee. Furthermore, you cannot feel your calf, foot or toes at all. All muscle bellow the knee is limp. 

Naturally, you disregard standing and walking at all. The horrible vague sensation of touch does not reach you fully when you press and prod fingers at the bandaged area, you know you should feel something, but the feeling that is not pain or even general touch sensation is simply not a feeling you're fond of at the moment. It feels like pins and needles. 

Outside the chirps and thrumming chittering of troll noises go on as normal say for the additional thumps of footsteps approaching the curtain. 

<==<<< <==<<< <==<<< >>>==> >>>==> >>>==> 

The jade is very insistent on keeping you company before Darkleer arrives. She seems to hold the majority of the conversation, mostly over idle things as she replaces your bandages. At least she isn't like typical trolls. Her tone is generally neutral, and almost, comforting you think. 

"You're pretty lucky I think, this stuff isn't easy to come by. It works wonders for broken bones. Hopefully, our alleged guest will be willing to part with more-- Assuming it is our generous guest of course. We don't know for sure." She gives you a deliberately overt wink. Everybody seems to be very ominous about this guest. Are they not allowed to say their name?  
"But she's the only one who visits him at all with any prior message. This stuff is genuine webbeast silk, from the best lusus there is in fact. Or so she would insist."  
You want to scoff at her trollish words, but you're a bit caught up in the confirmation that yes, you have spiderweb all over your leg. You don't miss the word she used though. They used lusus to refer to the butler creature too, but you still have a little context for what that actually means. 

You're then reminded of your last few moments before Darkleer had taken you away from your almost crime scene tango with Falada. He'd been with the butler, and they were seemingly preoccupied with something beforehand. Their attention had split when you were brought to their attention. 

You wonder what they'd wanted you for. 

Perhaps you can ask before he gets here. 

The Jade is writing some words on paper as she talks. She did not notice you'd lost track of whatever she was talking about. 

You tap on her hand to get attention. 

"Hm?" She's cut off midsentence and looks at you. When you make a gesture with your hand grabbing for the pen, she seems, cautious about handing it over to you. 

You sit up and grab her note pad. You page over and write on a blank sheet before she can raise her complaints. 

"How long have I been out?" You write. It's a start you guess. She's quiet before she reads. It probably is disturbing for an alien creature to somehow know how to write in your own language. 

"...Oh, oh. It, hasn't been too long. You were here since yesterday. You slept through the whole day when you arrived." She says. 

You sigh. So you did waste a whole night of potential investigation. 

"Where is Darkleer? Did he say what was going on?"

"I- I don't know. Was there something going on? He did not tell us what happened to your leg." There's a beat where she stops you from writing out anything more.

"Wait, wait. Are you-- where-... How did you learn how to write? You're-" She seems to struggle with her words making meaningless gestures. She does not know what she wants to ask. Her eyes are flickering left and right. It could be worry you're seeing, but from your natural assumption from interacting with trolls, you take it as suspicion. 

You're interrupted again before you can write; from behind her and the curtains, you make out enough of the heavy shadow standing there at the entrance to know it's the master. 

The jade snatches pen and paper from you, holding it, not so subtly behind her back when she rises from her seat to address him. 

"Jades." He greets the room. The room returns the greeting with nothing but a nod. It became so quiet so quickly, that everyone seems almost with discomfort when they have to return to their work.  
He turns to make his way to where you are. The chattering returns and everyone's back to business, if not a little more shyly. 

You don't get a greeting.  
"You slept too long. Perhaps you might be able to make up for lost time today instead." He says. The Jade gets ignored and he faces you directly. 

You're almost thoroughly annoyed when you realize that he's more squeezing you into submission. You both know you don't really have a choice when he asks for his help, but regardless, he's waiting for an answer. You nod, eventually. 

"Jadeblood." She almost jumps from where she'd been counting her toes when he addresses her. "Will they be well enough to walk on their own?" He asks. 

"Oh, yes master. They shouldn't have trouble walking, at worst, they might need a crutch." She says. "Go on." She makes a small gesture as she whispers with kind eyes. As well as forgetting the book behind her back and dropping it all on the floor. She scrambles to collect it all again. And then with a major dysfunction in subtlety, hides it behind her back, and away from Darkleer, patently. 

He twitches. "What is that?" He asks.

"Nothing. Nothing at all." She shakes her head. 

Without a word, he holds out his hand, waiting. She looks about as guilty as a child who's scribbled all over the walls. Reluctantly, she eventually hands over the notepad. 

He looks it all over but he seems to understand enough of what’s written, that she was not the person to write this. He looks at you. 

"You can write? And you did not tell me?" You imagine his eyebrows are leaning heavy. His mouth tweaks just enough for you to know he’s not happy with you. 

God. How are you supposed to get anything done if you don't even know what you are and aren't allowed to do?

You nod. 

“Well then. If you’re able to make clear and plane statements, tell me, what happened to the oracle?” He hands you the notepad. 

“Oracle? Is that what I stole?” You decide to write. Also, that does not narrow it down at all. If he would stop being so vague, you’d know by now what precisely you’re looking for. 

“So you admit you stole it?” He says.

“I did not steal it. What ‘oracle’ are you looking for?”

“I don’t know. I never got to open the box.”

It’s difficult not to be angry yourself. It’s difficult and he does not understand. 

“What do you want me for? Besides finding things neither of us have seen before.” You write the latter sentence a bit more scribbly than the rest, but it’s on paper before you decide otherwise. You end up writing another hoping it might distract. It comes out as: “Were you going to kill me regardless of the outcome?”

There’s a tense break as he reads. As he speaks, he decides to take a seat on the Jades place. She’s gone awkward in silence by now. She seems to be trying to be undisruptive, but you see her inching towards the edge of the curtain every few moments.

"You will not have death yet." There's a pause. "Unless you’d beg for it. Something about your recent actions tells me it might be something you're considering." He’s not fully irate with the way you responded, so you go on. 

“If you must know I was running away from someone. I think it might've been the real thief.” You write. 

“You think it’s a troll?“ He asks. You notice that the Jade has made her way out and away from your dispute. 

What…? You write as much. 

“I’m not entirely certain what had caused whoever it was to outright attack you, but recently another of my things have been stolen. I was lucky enough to catch the perpetrator in the act, but they seem skilled in escape. They had no horns, and whatever it is, it seems to be the same sort of… creature that you are.” 

You take your time trying to take this all in. He seems oddly patient with yourself. 

“Then why am I still being treated like I’m the criminal?”

“Becuase I do not know for sure that they’re the ones who stole the oracle. And even if they are responsible for everything, you’re still beneath me. I have no obligation to treat you anything but lesser. But you are still the same creature, and I have reason to believe you might assist me in prooving your potential innocence. If you are innocent… I will let you live.”

You’re not entirely sure what he sees in you that you can offer. You lack horns just like the other thief does, so what? But if he’s offering you life in reward, you can’t really complain. 

“So, the only difference now is that you guarantee that I live if I find what you’re looking for?”

“Yes. But there is still a time limit. I would like this case to be over before five days from now pass.” He says. 

“Alright. I will help you.” 

You have to wonder what he would do if you decidedly did not comply. You have no other choice really, do you?

“Good. Then let us leave.” He rises from his seat and waits on you expectantly. 

You feel tense again, and brace yourself when eventually you do get on your feet. Indeed, it’s not as bad as the healer told you, but only now you’re keenly aware of the dense feeling of nothing in your leg. It’s as if there's a giant piece of useless meat strapped to your leg. 

Regardless, you walk on. Your gait is horribly affected, and is not unnoticed, to the point you’re given a walking stick when you get to the door. 

“First off, before you do anything else, I have something I should show you. It might be relevant. Will you keep up?” His sentence contrasts, as he slows his pace when you struggle to keep up. You don’t mention it and simply nod. He said he would be giving you a notebook of your own the next time you talk, so you’re not too stressed on communication. 

He takes you to a faraway tower, tucked to a far corner of the hive, and down a long spiral staircase. The sensation of you shuffling down it without making the feeling in your leg worse irritates you to no end. When you finally do reach the bottom, you’re taken into a dark room. Nearly pitch black. There are no windows. You don’t walk in any further, though he seems to saunter in with no care. 

“Come in.” You eventually hear. You don’t want to. But you try. 

Just a few steps and you bump against something with your wrapped shin. The horrible thump that accompanied it, told you that if you had feeling in your leg now, you would not like it. 

You hear a sigh. He shuffles somewhere in the room, and then slowly light bleeds in from above. It’s still dim, but you’re able to see where to walk now.

The light is slightly tinted blue, and easy on your eyes. Looking at your surroundings now, you're just that much thankful you didn't feel what you bumped into. Most of the room's furniture is made of metal, as most of it seems to be worktables, stacked to the brim with... what you assume is machinery? There are wires and metal parts and gears, or at least what you think it is. All the shapes are strange enough to be alien but seem practical enough in fitting shapes that you recognize it all to be used in engineering and the likes. 

The lights flickering above you now even, it's artificial. 

It seems like he's a bit ahead of himself compared to the decor of the rest of his home. You could've sworn you were in the middle of their classical era by the paintings on the walls. 

Of course, there are still remnants of what the rest of his hive is, there are still classical paintings tucked into the walls where there aren't shelves of books and tools and metal parts, but the rest looks... and smells, like a mechanics garage. 

"Can you see any better?" He asks. 

He's standing just a few steps beside you, holding a chain, what you assume toggles the light's intensity. 

When you nod, he walks over to a desk tucked to the furthest part of the room. He shuffles through the drawers until he finds a notebook-- of which he tears in half, and discards the used half. Then he hands it over to you with a fresh pen. You've gone through so many pens these past few hours. 

Then he moves to a desk where there's a large white sheet draped over something. There's little fanfare to lure your curiosity, as he simply gets to the point and drops the sheet revealing a basic metal frame, very akin to a window, but lacking the glass. There are metal wires and the like also plugged in in even measurements, but whatever it's purpose is, is not apparently clear to yourself. 

Looking to the edge of the left panel, there are clear neat letters inscribed on it. 

You tilt your head sideways and read:

"Property of Doc Scratch."


	5. Stable Vices

"No, I don't know anyone by that name." 

You end up writing to him. It could be the name of a company or brand, but even so, you know nothing by the name of "Doc Scratch". 

You ask Darkleer what sort of machine this is, and he also admits he has no idea. That's why the other parts of the machine were so crucial to him, now that the human stole the other parts, he's not too sure he'll be able to find out what it even is. At least you're both mutually stumped over the thing. Whatever the case, the goal is still clear: Find the thief, or at least retrieve what they stole. Darkleer is sure to remind you, and you nod stiffly. 

You’re released from his office and you’re free to roam.  
He’d explicitly ordered you to refrain from moving around too much while you’re still recovering, and basically told you not even too look at a broom or mop until this whole thing is sorted. Lucky you. 

This morning you decide to idle a bit until later. You're not sure where you're going to go. You're not eager to speak with the head maid yourself... not this early in the night. If Darkleer is in a hurry, how busy would she be? There's still a lot of bustle going on in the hive over preparations for the guest; you have no doubt she's still in her terrible moods as well. You're pretty sure she'd throw you in the torture tower no matter if Darkleer explicitly ordered your recovery and safety. 

Shit. And with Falada still on the loose, you’re pretty viable for an unfortunate visit at any time of the night if you’re simply going to be wandering out in the open like this. You’re surprised she didn’t come to snatch you in your sleep. The other servants thoroughly rejected your return to the servant's quarters. They made you sleep alone in a separate room altogether. Which was fine… although it was colder than usual. 

Today isn't going according to plan. You're not investigating her room by yourself, even if that is where the oracle might be. You're staying far away from her as possible.  
So... you suppose the best thing you can do right now is... wait?

You decide that might not be so bad, if not detrimental to the incredible lack of progress. 

Eventually, after taking a spin to fetch something to occupy yourself with from the library, you find yourself on a balcony overlooking the training courtyard. It was a bit too early for you to be seeing any soldiers, but you suppose the few that were indeed present must have been cautious. You don't blame them in the least. 

Darkleer does not seem to be very at peace this early in the night. He looked akin to the first night you met him. You were lucky you hadn't run into him yourself yet. You'll make a point of it to perhaps do so later, once he has calmed down you think. He looked like he was using what little residue of energy he had left of himself not snap any of his unlucky servant's spines. He's been more and more calm with yourself as you're now working together, but you're not going to bother getting orders from him while he's in that state.

So you have one ally, technically. If you don't do anything against the master to set him off anymore, you're more than certain you'll be safe for the time being you're helping him. Until two days' time. You don't know what he'll do with you if you don't succeed... Your mouth gets a bit dry thinking about it. You're not sure if you can leave and live on your own on an alien planet long enough to figure out how to survive, and you're not sure you want to stay here amongst creatures that would like to possibly kill you.  
Whatever. An ally is an ally. 

Meaning...  
is this other human your enemy?

Not all humans are good you suppose... but...

<==<<< <==<<< <==<<< >>>==> >>>==> >>>==> 

This creature is not unlike a cat (or purrbeast, for simpler terms) you think. They are smart, curious, but also _very_ easily startled. You're surprised they even followed your requests alone, or are even patient enough to listen to your requests at all to their discomfort. They seem much more invested at the moment with their own problems than to bother with those of others. Not that that's a bad thing. You're sure you would do the same if you were on an unfamiliar planet. And possibly had a broken leg (You can’t remember the last time you’ve broken a bone, especially not on the account of the fast development of your incredible strength.).

It’s in the way they carry themselves with caution, whether or not you're around. You have no trouble imagining that your workers and soldiers would not be very welcoming to their sudden uninvited presence, as your subjects should, however, at this point you would've hoped that it would not cause such caution on their part. They are a part of them now, whether they like it or not.  
If the alien is to serve you in your endeavours, you'd prefer that they have comfort in the environment they will be working in. It would make things easier on the both of you. Not to mention the horrendous language barrier. Perhaps you'll consider language lessons to be in order once all of this has gone by. 

You find them on the second-floor bridge of the Lowest south wing, outlooking the training field. It’s peacefully quiet, and a much-desired atmosphere compared to the ever-bustling hurry of the servants in the lower floors of the hive.  
They seem to be taking in the weather... or they're possibly deep in thought. Whatever they're thinking seems to affect their expression negatively. Or at least that’s what they seem to convey. You don’t think you’ve seen any positive expression from their part, now that you think of it. They are alien, and it might be reason for this, but you can’t help but be curious. 

The skies are equally as clouded. The skies collect darker shades with every passing, making the anticipation of its final accumulation all that more exciting. You have no doubt Mindfang has selected now of all seasons to finally visit as to excuse herself to remain here for longer when the weather gets too rough. Or perhaps she picked it out for a more dramatic effect. The raw energy of the storm often do tend to bring speculative vigor when she enters the room. You couldn’t care less. 

The wind wisps and swoops up your hair, the faint salt in the air is crisp in your lungs. It must be calming to be up here and think. No wonder they... the human decided to come up here. You make a note of them to request their proper name. 

"I have a request to make." You begin, and they startle terribly, nearly losing their footing with the hurt leg. They did mention the lack of feeling in their leg, but you can’t imagine it’s at all comfortable, even less so convenient. 

You cringe at yourself. You keep forgetting to let them know of your presence beforehand. 

When they finally adjust to your presence and relax (not by much), you decide to go on: "I might not be available the whole night, so I would like you to start the investigation if you're feeling well enough." You make a point of it to point out their leg. Then you realize that they might not be able to make out that they can't see your eyes through your visor. 

Clear communication is hard. It's hard and nobody understands. 

They nod, though still slightly jerkily. 

Auctor has given me the keys of which you spoke, although he mentions the room seems to have been visited recently. Regardless, you may examine the room; in the meanwhile, I will speak with this Falada you mentioned, if I am able to find her." You fetch the keys from your belt, only to find that, indeed, you've crushed it. 

…

You _____ swear you had had your _____ __________ ____________ gloves on before you took the ________ keys, why weren't you wearing your gloves now it's all twisted and gnarled and USELESS you want to BREAK SOMETHING--

But you don't. You just stand there quietly, and awkwardly, for an uncomfortable amount of time. 

"Right. Never mind. I will break down the door. In the meanwhile, I have to go beleaguer my subjects. You will wait here. When I return we will both investigate the room." You feel a trickle of sweat trail down your temple, but it is nothing to fret over. 

You are calm now. There's nothing irking you at this moment, and the crisis is averted. You note that you'd given them the broken key anyways, and they look confused as to what they're supposed to do with it. You leave it at that and abscond the situation. 

You wish you knew what had gotten yourself in such a mood. You haven't been this easily irate since Mindafng had announced her outright disrespect for highbloodhood and initial piracy. You have since kept yourself under strict measures regarding your attitude. It does not seem to be doing as well to keeping yourself in line since recent events. Perhaps its the lack of sleep. 

Hopefully, this will pass. 

<==<<< <==<<< <==<<< >>>==> >>>==> >>>==> 

You can’t help but wonder if he’s feeling well at all when he leaves. That was quite a curious interaction. 

You'll put the key in your pocket you suppose. 

Down below on the fields, you see more soldiers file up, and if your eyes do not deceive you, amoungst them, Falada collects herself as well. One would think she would bother hiding herself somehow, but no, there she stands, all out in the open. You lean forward to get a better look. 

For once, it looks like she’s properly dressed in her uniform, though when she puts on her visor you can't help but notice a difference. She does seem nervous, but here intentionally. Oh. Good. You were almost considering feeling worried _for_ her if she wasn't on edge about being out here in the open. But why would she be here at all?

The other guards seem to encircle her. You can’t make much with such broad shoulders in the way, but you can hear and tell, she’s not enjoying the attention. She keeps yelling at them to fuck off and mind their own business, but they don't. They seem to be taking great amusement in her discomfort if those chuckles tell you anything. It's condescending almost, not unlike when they're messing around with unlucky lowbloods.

Then something happens. They grab her. She struggles, but the many hands at arm make it easy for them to keep her still. And then they let go. Then there's another round of chuckles and a lot of profane words from her part. She's not facing you but you don't need to see her face to know she wants to start a bar fight on the field. She stops immediately when everyone swings their head to the far side of the field and see's Darkleer well on his way. She knocks one of them right off their feet and she storms from the crowd. 

What did they do?

You look to the fields, and then to where she ran off to. Darkleer did request that you stay, but a few minutes shouldn’t make a difference, right? You might not even find her. You'll be right back before anyone's any the wiser.

So you pick yourself up a moderate pace that doesn’t impair your leg and go downstairs. You fear you're almost immediately at a loss for where she could have gone, but wander around regardless, peeking down this and that hallway. It is not until you finally find a trail of servants picking up after something has very clearly been shoved from their arms.

You avoid their glares best you can and look into yet another probably abandoned room. She seems to have a great fondness for them. It must be a storage closet of some sort, there are crates and shelves all over the place, and in the center, in the dim light of the dust over the window, sits the silhouette of Falada’s hunched over figure. She sits at an angle, head tilted skew as she fiddles and rattles over something on her visor. 

You’re curious, yes, but you’d rather not waltz straight into the lion's den. It was a mistake coming this close to her at all, let alone follow her. 

You opt to back out slowly and as quietly as possible, you’ve learned well to be light and hushed on your feet. But instead, the ragged cloth of your clothes somehow hook on the door, and when you move to unhook it, the door moves to make an impossibly loud creak.  
God forbid someone oils these ancient hinges. 

Her eyes immediately snap and lock with yours, and they shink to tiny slits. 

“You.” Her voice is muffled somehow. You’re not sure what they did, but now there’s a piece attached to the visor. Like a mouthguard. Or a muzzle. 

You move and fuss more urgently with the cloth still hooked, but she stops you. 

“Hey. Here.” You only now notice the dagger in her hand she’s been trying to use as a screwdriver. She points it to you, then flips it over, offering the wooden handle of it. “Go on.” 

She then _throws_ the thing (gentle and uncharacteristically) and you’re lucky you don’t end up cutting yourself when you catch it. It’s heavy and was definitely made for hands bigger and grittier than your own. What is she up to? 

She makes an expecting motion, so before she loses patience, you cut yourself loose. The frail material of your cloth cuts easily. It's not like there aren't a myriad of other holes in your clothes that don't match it. It's fine.

“Alright. Now come here.” She makes a twitching gesture with her fingers. 

You consider running away, (with the blade. You’d feel so much safer with one now that there’s one in your hands) and finding Darkleer, but it’s quite obvious to you that she know’s he’s looking for her. She’ll be gone before you even catch her. 

“I don’t bite, ” Then she chuckles, and you’re not one bit fond of it. The sound is hoarse and clicks deep in her throat. “I need some help.” She makes a gesture to the muzzle parts. 

Well. You do have a blade in your hand. 

She leans forward in her seat, contradicting how she tries so hard to make it as clear as possible that she’s not going to try and pounce forward and claw your eyes out. Palm up, she asks for the blade. 

You inch forward to give it to her, and as you suspected, she does leap from her seat, and grabs at your arm, tugging you forward and into the room, kicking the door shut with a solid slam. 

You gasp as if you couldn’t have seen this coming, and struggle as best you can in her solid grip. You don’t drop the blade.  
In the meanwhile, she grabs your other arm, in some sad attempt to subdue your struggles. She makes a point of it to look you in the eyes when she talks. 

“Oh no you don't- hey, hey. Calm down lil' freak, you’re not in trouble!” She shakes you until you look at her. “Hey. Stop moving. I need help.”

<==<<< <==<<< <==<<< >>>==> >>>==> >>>==> 

After a brief scuffle, because naturally, you’re not eager to fool yourself twice, you end up being forcefully sat down in front of her. When you try to make a move, naturally she stops you. So you decide to maybe sit down and pretend to listen to what she has to say, hoping that you manage to find a way to get out of here. You still want to leap from your seat and jump out the window, but you’re not eager to deal with glass bits in your leg as well, so you sit. To be fair, she does somehow manage to sound sincere. Falada keeps herself well stationed in front of the door, blocking you off effectively. She lets you keep the knife, so at least that's something, but considering how well she kept you at bay earlier, you don’t think you have a chance of protecting yourself if she tries something. 

“Ok. You good?”

No. No, you’re not. You don’t bother to answer her. 

“Fair enough. I know we got off on the wrong foot–” she seems to stop to think about if she should rephrase herself or not before not trying at all. “But uh. I’m sure you know I’m in trouble.”

“I wonder why.” You write. 

She scoffs and rolls her eyes.  
“Yeah, yeah, alright. I get enough shit from my pals already.” She points at her muzzle. 

“Your _friends_ put that on you?” You ask. She takes note of your somewhat skeptic expression. 

“It’s– It’s a shitty inside joke you wouldn’t get it. Whatever, that’s not what I need right now. What I need is your help. So you told Darkleer that I’ve been putting up shit?” She seems to be handling that fact quite well. She must be used to being in trouble. 

“Well. You did say you had something that was stolen. You also have yet to return it to him. Of course I told him.”

“Right, right. So that means you're in good with the Executor right?" She asks. 

"I wouldn't say that precisely..." You write. What does she want exactly?

"Ok whatever. The point is: If you help me get him off my back," A calloused greasy hand falls with such casualty on your shoulder before you can stop it, forming a gesture of friendship you're not entirely comfortable with yet. Does she forgive everyone so freely?  
"We can steal the oracle again, and I’ll even get you a cut of the deal! We’ll both be home free and he’ll never be the wiser, what do you say?” You look from her hand to her face. Her expression conveys she thinks she's putting one hell of an offer on the table. You don't know what spoils the oracle might give you, but you don't think you'd care. 

“Steal the oracle again? How do you mean?” You decide to ask. You suspected getting the orb back wasn't going to be so easy. 

“Well, um, I don’t have it anymore! Some– freaky weird thing– it looks kind of like you, it stole it from me. Wait- You’re not working with that thing, are you?”

“No. So you’ve seen them too?”

“Yeah! I even know where the fucker likes to hide, but they’re damned sneaky about it. All we need to do is catch them. As far as I know, the ugly thing is stuck here. I think it knows about the traps Darkleer set up around the place, so they don’t know how they’re going to get out.” Her tone goes gravelly when she talks about this other person. You make a note of it not to get on her bad side again. At least not so quickly again. 

“Where do they hide?”

“Get Darkleer off my back and I’ll show you.” She grins. Right then.  
You’ll play along you guess. You have the understanding that neither of you trust each other, but you also understand that this is the only way you're going to make any progress. She needs Darkleer to stop giving her a hassle, and she'll give you the information you need. So the race begins. 

You agree to help her. Decided, you nod, stuffing your small notebook into a pocket. You stand and offer back her dagger, but she stops you midway and points at the mouthguard. 

“Uh, wait. Could you–?” By the manner she tilts her head, you can see why she spoke so under her breath. There are hooks of the piece digging under her jawline. If she opened her mouth to raise her voice any more, it would cut into her. 

She gropes and points out some of the parts. You have to wonder how she took off the contraption herself before; some of the parts are so small, you have to work with a strong but fine intricacy to detach the muzzle from the rest of her visor. Eventually, the thing falls off, and she flexes and rubs at her probably aching jaw. She mutters a small word of thanks. 

You suppose you can trust her not to stab you again, so you again, offer to give it to her. 

“Hm? Oh no. You can keep it. I’ve got lots. Anyways. Don’t forget to get him off my ass. Otherwise, I’ll stab you with that one, alright?” You’re sure she had meant for it to be a jesting gesture, but she doesn’t seem to know her strength when she pokes you so hard you stumble back a bit. 

She laughs and slinks out the door and you’re alone in a musty dusty room. Through the window outside you can see Darkleer continues to badger the other soldiers, picking them off one by one. He hadn’t noticed you earlier leave. You’re not sure how much time has passed but it doesn't seem like anyone noticed. 

Well. Now, what will you tell him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know what im going to replace every chapter title with a horse pun i swear to god i never know what to name them. that and id just like to inform you every time theres just a comment or a "someone left you kudos" thats the sort of stuff that keeps fics updated.  
a few days ago i was considering scrapping this, writing it over or just plain writing something else alltogether, but then i just updated it instead. the best part is that i enjoyed what i wrote (all the rough drafts i wrote before was giving me hell), so, not just for my fic, but keep in mind even just saying stuff like "i love this" is pretty fucking motivating for writers


	6. Broncobuster

When the day came, falling asleep was a second impossible task added to your list. 

You hate the feeling of not being able to sleep. You lay there, and time seems to slow down to a spiraling crawl. Your eyes are sore, the floor is cold and every other noise you hear seems to be amplified double as much as it should be. All the trolls around you seem to be snoring soundly, however, so you suppose this is just a “you” problem again. 

You’ve tried many a remedy. You had another book you borrowed from the library, but you found yourself unable to keep your eyes on the page. You tried shutting your eyes and counting, but you kept losing count. You’re not going to wake another troll again like last time, they nearly tore your face off with their claws. 

There’s no immediate solution to the problem though. But you think you might know what the problem is. 

Judging by the barely sound footsteps outside the room however, you hear breathing, shallow, but loud enough for you to know it’s not just the wind. 

Right. So you do have a stalker. What makes them brave enough to come after you at this house, however?

You suppose it doesn't matter because when you hear feet shuffle closer to the main door, you’re already up withing the second and leaving through the back door, trying your best to keep your movements subtle, if not quiet as well. 

The shadow that was following you earlier today appeared to you again it seems. You’re too tired to deal with this shit right now. As if tomorrows deadline wasn’t enough…

The gentle patter of the rain always has done wonders for your nerves. It seems it’d started to rain just as you got up. You can’t even see any rays of the burning sun through the thick of the clouds… you suppose it’s for the better. 

The night shift guards eye you as you pass them by, but if anything, they might hopefully be enough to ward the sneaky bastard off. You hadn’t wanted to deal with this right now. You don’t know what you’re going to do if your stalker turns out to be Falada. It can’t really be anyone else, can it?

You did try to bring the situation up with Darkleer… but…

<==<<< <==<<< <==<<< >>>==> >>>==> >>>==> 

"I don't think you need to go after Falada, not anymore in any case." You've written. 

Darkleer shifts, and seems taken aback, possibly bothered as he pauses considering what you wrote. He must’ve been hassling those guards to get information on Falada right? That’s what he was doing. 

"And why is this?" He asks. You hope you can sound convincing enough. Falada said she’d speak with you later, and hopefully let you in on where the thief is, or even better, the oracle. You’re not sure what you’re going to do if you encounter the other human right now for sure, and you’re not really fixated on it. You’re on a deadline, and you need to act quick. 

"I think it's a coincidence that she took offense to me, perhaps we should focus on finding the oracle before accusing people." You write. That seems good enough an excuse, right? The end goal is to collect the oracle, he can point fingers later. 

"She took offense to you none the less. She remains a suspect, and I will interrogate her regardless." His words are rock solid, he doesn’t sound like he’s in the mood to budge on the subject. You gulp. What are you to say to that? Is there something more than the investigation and himself going on between the two?

In the panic of the moment, you grab at his wrist before he tries to leave again. 

Your hand is a bit too full right now to write, but you're sure your eye will do well to communicate your words thoroughly. "You don't have to, please." Your voice is a bit shaky, and it doesn’t even sound like your own voice, but you’re too nervous to let go now. This is the only guarantee that you’re going to get your hands on this oracle- he’s got to listen!

Darkleer, on the other hand, stares you down intensely. Or you think he is until you notice he's probably not even looking at your face at all. He's looking at your hand... grabbing his hand. 

You let go like you were burned, wringing your hands with uncertainty. 

"You don't need to go after her, please." You repeat, hoping to distract him from the awkward note in the air. Your cheeks burn a bit. 

Your frail distraction method seems to work well enough as he also shakes from his stupor to look at you. You’re not sure if he’d gotten the message, but then he leans in. 

"I'm not entirely sure what brought you to prompt this interruption to our goal, but I'm going to find out." He whispers to you. You’re sure he meant for it to come off as a sort of threat, a reminder that he still doesn’t trust you completely, but it sounds more like he’s conspiring with you. You’re now entirely unsure of what message he seemed to get from you. 

He snaps a finger at a guard. "Double the search for Falada, and pressure those who were harboring her. I want her found." 

-+->

You tried to tell Darkleer about the situation with Falada, you'd wanted to explain the entire thing. But the conversation was denied. He expressed his explicit dislike of this girl since the moment you told him of her in the first place. He refused to give her a break.

Maybe it is the other human stalking you. But good grief, you don’t think you’ll want to get involved with them just yet. Somebody’s been following you all night, but honestly, can't it wait for the evening? Even if you can’t sleep, you’re still exhausted. 

You almost trip over your own feet when you go downstairs, and trip landing on your bad leg. You still don’t feel a thing besides a neutral throbbing. 

You’re infinitely grateful for the Jades. You don’t imagine getting around the hive would be nearly as speedy with your broken leg if Darkleer hadn’t taken you to them. You can’t help but wonder if your leg really is healing as fast as they say it is. You were walking around on it every occasion you forgot your walking stick, you’d think it’d be doing the opposite. But no, they say that since your species seems to have a natural knack for healing itself (and theirs don’t?), with their help, it seems to be doing even better ostensibly. 

At least that’s one thing you have on them, you suppose. Troll bodies are, as the Jades described, poorly equipped for healing, and usually, need external assistance if they want to heal nearly as fast as you can apparently. They reasoned your “meager simplistic” body must be easier to heal than a trolls’. 

You walk without any prior thought to where you were going. Along the way, your follower seems to have caught on and quickly retraced your steps. You end up thinking on impulse and swerve into the kitchen area, and then ducking cover randomly throughout the first door you see. You end up in what seems to be the larder. It’s too late now however, you hear footsteps enter the kitchen just as you’re about to gauge your safety. 

Perhaps hiding in a grimy storage room of the kitchens wasn’t your brightest idea. 

You shuffle with panicked action from your place when you hear more shuffling, and clattering from outside. You look around the room wildly and spot a back door. Before you test the handle, you take a peek out the window. 

It’s still raining outside... and the clouds are pretty dark. Surely the sun can't shine through? 

You look to the heavy-duty door. It’s not locked. The clatter continues, and you hear the faint noise of footsteps coming your way. You feel light-headed, and irrationally panicky. You don’t know who this is or why they’re after you, but you're just not in the mood right now. If someone’s decided to stab you from behind your back, you’re not sure how well your fight or flight responses are going to handle it. 

Then there’s even more clatter from the kitchen, multiple boots, and the gritty noises of the guards. Then they shout in alarm, and you hear the footsteps scrambling your way. 

You're out the door within the second, and you've taken off guard by a fresh burst of heavy wind laced with a salty spray of rain and seawater. It’s a lot noisier- and windier outside than you were expecting. You even lean your body against the wind so that it doesn't flip your balance. You’re soaked within the minute. 

Outside you see the Greenhouses. Great, you think. Three more enclosed spaces in which a stalker and angry guards can catch you in. You make a run or it. Behind you, someone else also bursts through the door as well, but you don’t look back just yet. 

You trek over the gritty rock, gravel, and grass with haste, not letting a second go to waste. You haven’t taken an impromptu shower for nothing. God, you really do hope none of this is for nothing. 

You've never been out of the backyard before. Mostly because you were not needed anywhere near here, and the greenhouses seemed almost off-limits to yourself as it's located so nearby the cliffs. If it weren't for the absolute size of them, you'd think that trolls were strictly carnivorous. How many plants do they even keep in there? Most of your meals were meaty or grainy slop, but it seems they eat their greens as well as they do meat, though you suppose that it's probably reserved for the higher-ups. Maybe vegetation is scarce. You certainly haven’t read up about it too much. 

Thunderflashes above you, and you clutch at your clothes to try and assemble a minuscule amount of heat. 

Mud splatters under your feet, dirtying your pants and you slip and faceplant onto the door of the greenhouse, earning you a nice pair of skid marks on your knees and sore nose. 

The three large glass domes before you seem interconnected with how snugly they are placed together, so you don’t think it matters if you picked the middle one. You tug and pull at the door, to no avail. 

Your heart skips a beat or two when the doors don't open. You can't go back... You’re not going back now. You swing your head around, squinting through the downpour. You don’t see any other person who could have come after you. You do see lights being lit from the kitchens and storage. Many troll horns can bee seen, but nobody comes outside yet. 

You have time. You can make this work… you hope. You run around the dome. There are windows. They have to be windows. 

You go tug and pull on the frames. They're frosted over from the inside, and the first one doesn't budge. You go to the next, and the next, and not one pulls free. 

The fifth one however swings open and nearly smacks you in the face if you hadn’t fallen over. A light flickers from the building, there's shouting from atop one of the towers. They've noticed you, you realize. 

You don’t need any prompting to take that as your cue to hop through the window as quickly as you can manage. You splat flat and wet on a table and roll and fall off, earning yourself a few splinters in the process. You think the rain may have refreshed your energy levels a bit, or maybe its the stress, but you’re up almost immediately despite the bruises and slam the window shut. You then crawl under the table as fast as you can. 

Your hand goes to your chest. Your heart is hammering, and breath is shaky, and you’re soaking wet. But hey. At least nobody’s caught you yet. You wonder what they want this time.

A hand slaps over your mouth before you can gasp. The arms are somehow smaller than you were expecting, holding you seemingly as tightly as they could without hurting you. Naturally, you struggle and squirm in their grasp, and try to move away. 

"Shh! I'm a friend; a friend-- Oof!" A voice says, raspy, but in a pleading tone. You elbow them, and they go sprawling backward before you even begin to think about their words. 

You don't care how friendly this person is, they shouldn't just grab you out of nowhere like that! As you shuffle away from them, knocking the table at its leg, where a small gardening spade falls right beside your hand. 

It's better than nothing. You hold it with a death grip and point it at the hooded figure, who's also trying their best to shuffle from you. When they see the sharp tipped spade at your disposal, their hands fly up in surrender.

"No, won't-- won't cut, I'm not a-- Listen!" They stutter with broken sentences. They continue to sputter, but you can hear them clearly. You haven’t heard anyone speak like that in so long. They’re speaking English. 

They let the hood fall, revealing, no horns, no fangs, nor yellow scleras. They're human. 

“I’m human, I’m–” They shiver, they blink, but they look at you with a pleading face. They’re terrified of you. They look like they want to beg for their life. 

You drop the spade. 

"S-sorry!" You say. "I'm sorry!" You haven't spoken in so long, say for the occasional curse and slip of the tongue. You’re almost stuttering as much as they are. When you speak– your words sound straight-up alien to yourself. It’s as if your voice isn't really even yours anymore. 

You both sit there for a few minutes, just staring at each other, disturbed, anxious, anticipating. 

You take the opportunity to study the other, to appreciate just how normal they look. Dark scruffy hair, Bright doe-like eyes. No claws. No horns. No fangs. Just a plain normal human being. 

You'd feel a bit of joy in the brief moment too, but you're not sure how appropriate it would be to hug them simply for being human. They look a bit scared now despite having a moment to calm down, you don’t want to frighten them off now. 

You're still not necessarily on the same side either... Deciding whether to side with Darkleer or Falada was a task all on its own, now you have to face between your own kind and trolls? You’re still not very eager to jump into this moral conflict right now. 

"Conrad." They say eventually. 

"Conrad?" You ask. They nod eagerly and give a nervous smile while pointing to themselves. "Oh, you're name's Conrad." It’s just a hunch but… you’re not sure how well Conrad is able to speak. You speak slowly for them. 

You then give your own name, and they repeat it trying to get all the syllables right. 

You're about to ask them why they were following you before outside you could hear yelling from outside over the rain. The jig is up. 

You want to tell Conrad to hide, but they're already quite a few steps ahead of you, as they grab at your wrist and tug you further into the greenhouse. They navigate it quickly, and they know where they want to go. 

Trolls are banging at the door and just in general making noise. You hope to god that the plants cover you, they seem pretty dense with leaves, but there's only so much the plants can hide. You nearly trip over a few pots and plant along the way, Conrad must know this place very well if they’re able to navigate it even in the dark like this. You both stop short at the far end of the greenhouse, away from the exterior door, which the trolls promptly come marching in through, and the other door that leads to the other greenhouses. 

You duck down and stay low. 

You wonder if Conrad had thought this thing through; you certainly haven't. If anything you were sleepwalking through this thing, but you then see them fiddling with something on the ground, which was hidden under a carpet. A hidden door? It looks Jammed, but Conrad tugs at it in hurried earnest. You think if you tried to help you'd only get in their way, so you decide to keep watch instead. You try your best to keep your breaths shallow and even, and then you peek over the large pots. You hear hooves, and sure enough, as suspected, there's Auctor along with many a guard hounding through the leaves. 

You don't know why you're hiding, in fact, if you came out now, you're sure Auctor would dismiss yourself... but what would happen to Conrad? You don't think you really want to find out, not when you know so little about the situation... (and with such little energy keeping you awake) you need to know the full scope before you choose between these people. Does Conrad even know you were meant to capture them?

As if to make it worse, you hear a deep voice conducting the soldiers. Darkleer enters the scene. You hear an uneasy noise come from behind you. You doubt they are very fond of him, and you don’t blame them. 

Darkleer kicks down a door that must lead to one of the other domes. Darkleer’s not fully dressed in his armor like you were expecting, and that’s reasonable you think. Did they wake him in the middle of his sleep or did he wake up himself? Regardless, you take a quick moment to admire how pretty his hair is when wet and loose, despite your imminent danger. Is he going to think you’re working with Conrad? What will he do with them?

Nobodies come near where the two of you are hiding, but with this many soldiers at hand, they’re bound to sweep this whole room clean in minutes.

You move away from the pots on impulse and join Conrad despite yourself. It’s uncomfortable getting this close, but with your help, you both pry open the door from the floor. You get more splinters to dig into your fingers but it's all the more satisfying when it opens up. 

Less so when it flips over and slams hard on the floor. Your blood freezes, and it takes less than a second for the both of you to drop down into the pitch-black hole, and slam the thing shut after you. You hurt your good foot on your way in, but your friend wastes no time as they move you deeper and deeper inside the tunnel. 

It was smaller in here than you initially thought, but you're both home free, and it’s almost satisfying hearing the shouts of confusion from above. Your heart hammers in waste, but at least you’re not caught, right?

Conrad leads you far and down the compact tunnel. Above you hear Darkleer and his soldiers wreaking havoc upstairs, and then the breaking down of the secret hatch. There's no way they are going to fit in here. What are these tunnels for in any case? Were they hiding in here all along?

It's cold and made of stone, these grime and dirt in here, and it smells like grease in here. Has Conrad been staying in here the whole time? 

You duck and cover and follow them deeper into the inky darkness of the tunnel, mostly because you're not sure where you're going to go. They followed you for a reason, didn't they? 

You'd pick your own side if you could, but you get the distinct feeling that life wouldn't be as ideal on your own. Everybody wants the orb for all differing reasons, though the problem is, considering the looming time limit that is tomorrow, who's side would be the best to pick? You haven't had nearly enough time to regard each person's reasons for involving yourself fully, so you're not sure what they'll do once they're done with you. 

So many choices, so little to trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im so lost every time i try editing i don't know what to take in or what to leave out lmao ;-;
> 
> is it boring? is it weird?? should i rewrite it?
> 
> find out next time on insecure fanfic writers


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